


Pomegranate Kisses

by eclecticanarchist



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Child Death, F/M, Frank gets handcuffed an unnecessary amount of times, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Vampire Hunters, billy and schoonover are bastards ok, hunter! Frank, vampire! karen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticanarchist/pseuds/eclecticanarchist
Summary: Frank lost his fear of vampires. He learned how to kill and kill well. He racked up kills by the dozen, wiping out entire nests on his own sometimes. Billy and the rest of the team were with him every step of the way, brothers in spilled blood and secret battlefields. So he fought, and killed, and earned a name for himself in the supernatural community: The Punisher. But he never forgot that night, what it felt like to be afraid of the dark, and he never forgot the woman in white who put that fear into his heart.He caught glimpses of her over the years. An elegant blonde updo in a restaurant. A pair of large dark sunglasses during winter. It was never more than a passing glance. On his wedding day, tucked among the blenders and crock-pots on the gift table was a single piece of cardstock, rich fine stuff in a pale cream. It read ‘Congratulations’ and was sealed with a pomegranate red kiss.





	Pomegranate Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeartonFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartonFire/gifts).



> I blame true blood and every my undying love for urban fantasy. Thank you to HeartonFire for betaing and nixing my run on contractions <3

Frank first saw her when he was twenty. It was back when he was still running with Schoonover and his crew of hunters, back when he took orders on what to kill instead of seeking them out himself. He barely knew how to work a stake, let alone a gun., He wasn’t supposed to get involved. He was supposed to wait in the van as back-up in case the eradication of the nest went south. All he knew was that he had to stick them before they stuck him. All he knew was that he was young, alone, and shit scared of vampires.

He thought she was a civilian at first, the way she paused in front of the building, looking towards the street like she might call a cab. She could have been ripped from a painting, her dark coat, her pale skin, her silky blonde hair forming a halo under the streetlamps. He waited, watching, crossbow clutched between sweaty fingers. Billy’s voice crackled over the comm system and her head whipped towards the van even though she was a dozen feet away. There was no way she could have heard that. That’s when he knew what she was.

She smiled, red lips parting to reveal a perfectly white smile tipped with something dangerous. She raised a hand in a little wave, exposing the pale skin of her wrist like a beacon in the night. She paced forward, one step in front of the other, steadily closing the distance between them. Frank had fumbled for his walkie, which had somehow slipped between the seats, and the stake Schoonover had given him, which now seemed impossibly feeble in his hands.

“Frank,” someone pounded on the window and Frank jumped out of his skin, crossbow coming up to level at the vampire. But she was gone. It was just Billy and the guys, blood-splattered and triumphant. As he slid out of the driver’s seat, Frank kept looking up and down the street, as though he might catch a glimpse of her, figure out where she’d gone.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Over the next two years, Frank lost his fear of vampires. He learned how to kill and kill well. He racked up kills by the dozen, wiping out entire nests on his own sometimes. Billy and the rest of the team were with him every step of the way, brothers in spilled blood and secret battlefields. So he fought, and killed, and earned a name for himself in the supernatural community: The Punisher. But he never forgot that night, what it felt like to be afraid of the dark, and the woman in black who put that fear into his heart.

He caught glimpses of her over the years. An elegant blonde updo in a restaurant. A pair of large dark sunglasses during winter. It was never more than a passing glance. On his wedding day, tucked among the blenders and crock-pots on the gift table was a single piece of cardstock, rich fine stuff in a pale cream. It read ‘Congratulations’ and was sealed with a pomegranate red kiss. He tucked it into his tux before anyone could see.

That first year of being married to Maria changed things for him. His purpose shifted; he had something to live for, not just something he would die for. He gave up hunting the day Maria whispered to him that he was going to be a father, and he never looked back. At least, he tried not to. There were still moments he found his finger twitching for a trigger, visions of blood and nightmares made real that he couldn’t put to rest. But he found solace in his ordinary life. He found peace with Maria and the kids, and the knowledge that if anything tried to hurt them, he wouldn’t hesitate to wipe them out.

The trip to Central Park was supposed to be a special evening out, where the kids didn’t have to adhere to a bedtime and could drink as much overpriced hot chocolate as they wanted. Even the carousel was open that night, some event for the holidays, and its lights spun merrily above them, lighting up the night sky. Frank and Maria held hands, laughing softly to each other as they watched Lisa and Frank Jr. whirl giddily around the mirrored center, riding on the backs of lions and pegasi like heroes out of some story book.

They walked home together, content, ignoring the nip of the winter air at their cheeks. Lisa ran ahead, trying to beat Frank Jr. to the sidewalk. She died first. She barely had a chance to scream before the vampire ripped out her vocal chords, spitting them aside like old gum to lap at the fountain of red gushing from her little throat, turning her braid into a thick rope draped across her neck like a noose.

Frank dropped Maria’s hand, bounding across the grass as reached into his jacket for the stake he still carried in the inside pocket. He wasn’t expecting there to be more than one. A shadowy figure darted in, pulling Frank Jr. off the path and ripping a hoarse shout from his father’s throat. Someone tackled Frank to the ground, trying to knock the stake from his hand but Frank brought a knee up between them and kicked, sending the vampire flying back to thunk against a tree. It didn’t move when it hit the ground.

“Dad!” Frank Jr. cried out and Frank dodged left, launching himself at the vampire holding his son, driving the ungodly creature backwards and driving a stake into his heart.

“Frankie,” he grunted, pulling himself up. He saw his son, bleeding from a cut from his forehead, but otherwise unharmed, smile at him, before the vampire he’d stunned earlier came up from behind and snapped his neck. That sound echoed in Frank’s ears, drowning out his heartbeat with the sick sound of his son’s crunching vertebrae. He dropped to his knees, hardly noticing that the vampire fled as he cradled his son in his arms. He couldn’t even look at the purple bruising spreading across his malformed throat or the blank smile still painted on his face.

Then, he heard the last scream. Not a loud, ear-splitting sound but a desperate keen, low and gut-wrenching. Maria. He laid his son’s body gently against the grass, fumbling for the stake before hurtling back to where he’d left his wife. He froze when he reached the path. 

She was spread out like some sort of offering. She lay against the trunk of a tree, chin resting on her chest. Her coat and scarf were pushed aside, the skin of her throat shining brightly save for where the chunks of flesh ripped from her marred the pale column of her throat. Her wrists were spread to either side of her like some mockery of the crucifixion, punctured wrists seeping red into the white snow. He fell to his knees before her in supplication.

“Please.” His voice broke and he couldn’t speak. Words couldn’t bring her back. Words couldn’t fix the gnarled wreck of Lisa’s throat, still oozing blood, or the twisted remains of his son’s neck. He choked back sobs, hands fisting in the soft wool of Maria’s coat. He thought he heard something crack nearby. He wondered if it was his heart.

He didn’t remember walking back to their house. He didn’t remember washing the blood from his hands, or calling Billy to come over with as much weaponry as he could. He stripped off his button up and jeans, sorting through the closet to find the box in the back, the one with clothing so dark you couldn’t see the blood stains. When Billy pulled up, Frank was locking the door to his home behind him, walking past the mailbox without a second look back at the life that he’d built, at the life that had been ripped from him. It wasn’t his life anymore.

He barely remembered the next few months. Kill after kill, leaving nothing behind but the bodies of the undead and whispers in the dark that the Punisher was back. 

He refused to team up with Schoonover. He’d always fought better on his own, and he was no longer willing to risk forming connections with people. Curtis, when he heard Frank was back in the game, tried to visit him but Frank wouldn’t buzz him up. Instead he listened to his friend’s familiar voice through the intercom telling him that this was a mistake. Maybe it was, but it was one he was willing to make. It was one he had to make.

He killed in a daze, eradicating vampire nests from Brooklyn to Harlem to Hell’s Kitchen, anywhere those bloodsucking scum tried to hide, he found them and he killed them. Sometimes he made it quick, when his heart was empty and cold and he just wanted to be done with it. Other times there was silver involved, and holy water, when his heart was overwhelmed with the memory of Lisa’s short, stifled scream and the glassy stare of Frank Jr.’s eyes. Those times, he made it slow, tested how much pain a vampire could withstand before they couldn’t go on.

Billy was beside him every step of the way. He was his getaway driver, waiting in the truck ready to pass over the jug of gasoline to wipe all evidence of the improbable corpses off the face of the earth. He brought Frank food, made sure he did things like eat and shave and shower. He kept trying to convince Frank to come back to the team, to work with them again, but Frank refused. He didn’t need backup. He didn’t care one way or another if he made it out alive. He was going to purge New York of vampires or die trying.

It was working, too. Months turned into years as he slogged through the ranks of fledglings and low-level vamps, making his way up the ladder to the mysterious Vampire Lord that led the bloodsuckers of New York. What he didn’t expect was for that Lord to find him first, or rather, that Lady. It started as a routine kill. A couple of vampire punks feeding at a human rave. All he had to do was go in, lure them into the alley, and kill them with no human casualties. Easy. That was until She showed up. 

Frank slipped his way through the pulsating crowds of drunk and high twenty-somethings. His hat was tipped low over his face to keep the flashing beams of green and purple out of his eyes as he scanned the room for his targets. There were two of them, both women, in short sequined dresses with body glitter dotting their face and chests. The strobe lights cast sinister shadows across the sharp planes of their faces and glinted off their too-white smiles as they led their chosen conquests, their prey, out through a back door. Frank sped up, shoving his way through the mass of people and out the back door.

By the time he got outside, one of the vampires had a boy shoved up against a dumpster, her hands up his shirt as he fondled her ass. The other pair was kissing passionately, her hands digging tightly into the skin bared by his tank top. Frank coughed, and the vampires’ heads whipped up with a snarl. The men, already punch-drunk on vampire pheromones, did nothing but blink dumbly at him as he sprang into action. 

He slammed the vampire closest to him up against the side of the building. She was a tall, dark-skinned girl with legs like toothpicks, but she possessed the unnatural strength of vampires and was using every ounce of it to force her way free and rip out his jugular. He whirled around, tossing her into the oncoming charge of her redheaded friend, sending the pair of them stumbling backwards in their high heels.

“Bro, let’s get out of here!” one of the humans whimpered, grabbing at his buddy and making a run for the entrance of the alley. Good. One less thing to worry about. The vamps were back on their feet now, advancing on him with fangs bared. He drew a silver knife out of his belt, charging on them with a roar. The shorter girl ducked under his swing to smack him across the face with a powerful backhand. He caught her by the wrist, pulling her close to bury his knife in the meat of her shoulder. She screamed in agony, her flesh burning and peeling away from the silver blade.

“That’s my girlfriend, you bastard,” snarled the brunette, planting her heeled foot in his chest and tossing him back into the wall of the dumpster. He groaned as his head collided with the thick metal of the lid. These two were strong; full-blooded vampires at least. Not quite the easy fight he’d picked them for. His hand fumbled at his belt, drawing out a vial of holy water. Before he could throw it, the spiked end of a pump hurtled through the air, hitting him hard enough to knock the vial from his grip and drive the heel of the shoe through the flesh of his hand. He choked back a grunt of pain, wrenching the damn shoe out and tossing it to the side.

He didn’t get a chance to charge again. He’d barely gotten his good hand around the hilt of another knife when the petite redhead was flying at him, brandishing the knife she’d yanked from her own shoulder and plunging it into his shoulder before drawing back with a sweet smile.

“How does that feel, hunter?” she teased, fangs worrying at a glossy pink lip.

“Feels like I’m gonna kill you,” he spat, tasting blood in his mouth. Before she could respond, he headbutted her with all his might. She cursed, rearing back and smacking him across the face as her girlfriend pinned him to the ground with a snarl. One of his arms was trapped under him and the other? He screamed out as the brunette twisted his free arm up and back, dislocating it from his socket. He spat again, clearing blood and saliva from his mouth as he craned his neck to look up at them. 

“What the hell are you waiting for?” he growled, thrashing against their hold on him.

“They’re waiting for me,” a cool voice said from behind them. It was a woman’s voice, soft like velvet but tipped in ice. Frank heard the soft click of heels against the concrete until he could see a sleek pair of kitten heels poised against the bloodspattered ground near his head. His eyes followed the shoes up a pair of long graceful legs to the hem of a grey pencil skirt before the pain in his shoulder stopped him.

“Get him off the ground, Elsie, I want to have a look at him,” purred the voice and he was hauled roughly to his knees, the redhead standing beside him with her blade to his throat as her partner clicked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. He wondered idly where they had come from. He tested the cuffs, not looking up. Even with a dislocated shoulder and a couple of stab wounds he could put up a fight. Or die trying. His gaze flicked towards the saccharine smiles of his attackers and then finally at the woman in front of him.

It was her. The vampire from all those years ago. The one who’d waved and smiled at him on his first hunt. She hadn’t aged a day. More than that, she was still just as ethereally beautiful. Her hair was longer now, brushing past her shoulders, but her face was the same. Her eyes were the same piercing blue, set off by the pale fabric of her blouse, lips stained the same color of dark pomegranate. 

“There you are,” she said simply, brushing a hand along his jaw. He pulled away from her, only to wince as the motion pulled at his shoulder. “You know, Frank, you’ve really been a pain in my ass these last couple of years. It’s hard to build a network of covens when you’re busy killing all of them.”

“How do you know me?” he growled, glaring up at her. “I don’t associate with scum like you.” The knife at his neck pushed closer, drawing a line of bright crimson across his skin, a slice of pain. A warning. He spat, just missing the woman in front of him. The vampire in front of him, he reminded himself. She wasn’t human, and no matter how much she looked like the girl next door, she was dangerous.

“Scum?” She laughed, a surprisingly throaty sound. “Come on, Frank, we’ve known each other for a long time. I even sent you a card on your wedding, don’t you remember?” Frank thrashed again, sending the knife at his throat flying as he surged to his feet, heedless of the beads of blood trickling down his neck. The vampire Lady paid attention though, watching as drop after drop welled in the dip of his collarbone.

“Don’t you dare talk about her,” he said, voice thick with emotion. Their faces were close, close enough to kiss, close enough for her to end his life with a snap of her teeth if she wished. He stared her down, madness in his dark eyes, daring her to try. A cloud passed over her face, a gentle wrinkle breaking the smooth lines of her forehead.

“You still believe that vampires were responsible for your family’s deaths?” she asked, voice curious. She set her delicate hands against his biceps, trailing down to squeeze at his cuffed hands, even as he tried to jerk away from her. “Oh Frank, they’ve got you all mixed up.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, breaking free of her hold.

“You really don’t know,” she shook her head, pondering. “Frank, did you see the people who killed your family?”

“Yes. I watched them rip my little girl’s throat out, snap my boy’s neck.” There was something insidious building at the base of his skull. Lisa had run ahead, he hadn’t seen who’d killed her, just her body. And Frank Jr…. it’d been so dark, and he’d been half-dazed from the fight.

“It’s an odd choice,” the blonde vampire continued, looking away from his searching eyes. “For a vampire to snap a neck, rather than to bite it. You’ve never wondered at that?”

“Stop this, whatever you’re doing to my head,” he pleaded. His head was throbbing as he tried to remember. Tried to be sure.

“I’ll stop when you believe that vampires did not kill your family,” she hissed back and there was an immense power in her voice that sent him tumbling back to his knees. “You’ve hunted vampires all your life, Mr. Castle, you should know one of our kills when you see one. The bites on Maria were too clean, the bite on Lisa too messy, and no bite at all on little Frank Jr…”

“No, no,” he shook his head, trying to clear her words from dripping into his ears like poison, spreading doubt, making him relive that night. A shudder ran through him. Killing him would be less painful. “Vampires killed them. You killed them.” 

“We didn’t, Frank,” she sank to her knees in front of him, placing a hand to the side of his face. “You’ve been too blinded by your grief to realize it, but vampires did not kill your family. Humans did. It’s up to you to find out which ones.” She rose back to her feet, running a hand over her skirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

“But in the meantime, please stop killing my family,” she said with a grim smile. “Or things will get ugly.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him, motioning for the other vampires to follow her. She paused just outside the mouth of the alley, framed in the streetlights looking for all the world like an angel sent from on high. 

“Goodnight, Frank.” she gave him one last, sad smile, before disappearing into the night.

Frank stared after her. There was no doubt that she was the vampire he’d been looking for, the one he needed to kill in order to bring peace back to New York. But he’d only gone up against two of her lackeys, albeit strong ones, and he’d gotten his ass handed to him. He needed to be better if he was going to fight her. If he still wanted to fight her. He wasn’t sure anymore. He needed to be sure.

What she said repeated in his head. It made sense. The inconsistencies in the bite marks, the unusual MO for Frank Jr.’s death. She was right, he knew vampires, knew how they operated, but he hadn’t questioned it before now. He swore as he struggled to his feet. He was supposed to be better than this. 

But if vampires hadn’t killed his family, who had? He was retired when they’d died and even when he was working, most of his enemies were of the undead sort. He draped his discarded jacket over his wrists as to hide the distinctive shine of handcuffs. The last thing he needed was to get picked up by the cops and try to explain why he was handcuffed. The least they could’ve done was uncuff him.

Frank’s mind was racing as he made his way back to his shithole apartment. He slammed the door shut once he was inside and set about getting the damn cuffs off. The best he could manage was to break the chain between the cuffs, leaving them still firmly cinched around his wrists. At least they weren’t restricting his movement anymore.

Wincing, he lifted his injured arm over his head, reaching for the opposite shoulder. The arm snapped back into its socket with a neat pop and the pain fled, leaving behind only a dull ache. He made himself eat dinner, take a shower, and bandage his wounds before he fell into bed.   
He dreamed that night, of fangs, and blonde hair and pomegranate kisses. 

\---

Frank spent the next few weeks putting the pieces together. No vampire would come after a hunter and his family without making sure that the hunter died too. Even if it was just sloppy work, someone would have stepped up to take him out to prevent his retaliation. But no one did, leaving him free to slaughter vampires as he pleased. The people who killed Maria and the kids wanted vampires dead as surely as he did. And that meant hunters.

That’s how he found himself in the passenger seat of Billy’s car pulling up to Schoonover’s hideout. Schoonover had contact with hunters all over the world, if anyone knew which ones had moved against him, it was Schoonover. 

The hideout was a two-story townhouse made of sturdy brick. It looked well cared for, tucked between other townhouses lined up in a neat row. It was a far cry from the shitty motels of their early days. Schoonover had done well for himself. 

The man himself welcomed Frank back like a long lost son, with open arms. He invited Frank to sit down on the couch while Billy went to grab them some beers and he listened attentively as Frank explained. He nodded along, brow creased as Frank told him that he didn’t think vampires had killed his family, how it had to be someone who wanted to force him back into the life. 

As the words came out of his mouth, Frank paused. He remembered how furious Schoonover had been when Frank had told him he wanted out. He remembered the threats, Billy pleading with him to stay, all of it came rushing back. It wasn’t until the needle pricked his neck that he realized, maybe he had already found the people who killed his family. They were right here in front of him. 

“I think he’s finally put it together,” Schoonover smiled and Frank felt the world shift around him. It had been them the whole time. Schoonover, Billy, his friends. They killed his wife. They killed his kids. All because they wanted a better weapon, one they could manipulate however they wanted. 

With a roar, Frank lashed out, grabbing at Billy as the other man depressed the syringe, sending the drug coursing through Frank’s bloodstream. Billy fought back, blocking blow after blow as Frank stood and charged after him. Billy slammed a vase across Frank’s head, shattering the china and opening a heavy gash over his eye. Frank gritted his teeth, wiping away the blood sheeting down his face and drew his fist back to slam it into Billy’s cheek.

Fighting back the dizziness that blurred the edges of his vision, he grappled with Billy until he had the other man pinned against a mirror. He jerked the other man’s head back, slamming it into the glass over and over again as his vision began to tunnel. He dropped Billy’s body to the hardwood floor, ignoring the blood that dripped from his fingers as he staggered to his feet.

“You’ve always been a stubborn sonofabitch, Frank,” Schoonover was talking, but his voice sounded different, muddled somehow. He was holding a gun. It was aimed at Frank. The safety was off. Frank took a step forward, his knees suddenly weak, and Schoonover fired a warning shot into his shoulder. Frank growled, letting the shot rock him back, but nothing was going to stop him from killing the man who’d taken everything from him.

He lunged forward, smacking aside the gun as it discharged a bullet into the ceiling. He had his hands around Schoonover’s throat but he couldn’t make them work right, they weren’t closing. Frank cried out as a wave of vertigo passed through him, sending him toppling sideways, head smacking heavily against the ground. He looked up at Schoonover, head fuzzy and vision clouded with blood.

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered, his voice sounding wobbly through the static that filled his ears. Schoonover laughed and raised a foot to crush it into Frank’s injured shoulder. He screamed, surging up from the ground to grab at the older man’s leg. He yanked him down to his knees, trying to claw up at his face. Schoonover slapped his hands down and they thumped uselessly against the floor, suddenly filled with lead.

His fists came down again and again, pounding Frank’s head back against the ground until finally a particularly vicious stroke caused sparks to fly off the inside of his skull. His body finally fell limp and unconscious under the blows.

\---

Frank’s head lolled back, the jolt of his injured skull against the hard floor drawing him, groaning and scratching backinto consciousness. He felt like shit. Dried blood caked his face and he could feel where his shirt dragged at open wounds on his torso and arms. His head felt hazy, his thoughts moving like thick syrup. Whatever they’d dosed him with hadn’t worn off yet. The harsh plastic of multiple zip ties bit into his wrists, keeping them pinned behind his back and his ankles were similarly restrained. 

Testing the strength of the plastic at his wrists Frank concluded from the stab of pain in his knuckles that something in his hand was broken. He remembered his fight with Billy as a blur. Was it Billy who’d broken his hand, or Schoonover? Had he even been conscious? He remembered the bullets burying themselves in his body. He remembered Billy’s screams as he opened up his friend’s face against the broken mirror. He wished he didn’t remember so much. 

From the steel industrial beams overhead and the poured concrete he was lying on he looked to be in some sort of warehouse. He struggled to push himself up to a sitting position, ignoring the protests of his abused body. Pain was temporary. He could get through this. He tried to push himself up, using a nearby crate as leverage but his shoulder gave out under him, sending him back to the floor with a wet ‘snap’. There were tall crates all around him and the wave of nausea and pain that hit him nearly made him pass out all over again. He didn’t hear them coming.

Three figures darted into view, grinning widely as he started backwards, feet scrabbling desperately against the blood-soaked concrete. His breath was wet in his throat as his back hit a wooden crate, wrestling a pained groan from him as he raised his aching head to look at them. His heart sunk. They were young, and hopefully inexperienced, but there were three of them. He knew he could take them easily under any other circumstances but not right now. Not zip-tied and bleeding and beaten within an inch of his life. 

He couldn’t muster the energy to laugh, the muscles in his torso spasming as he tried. This was how they wanted to do it, then? Drop him someplace where a couple of vampire punks could do their dirty work for them. Cowards.

“Who the heck are you?” one of the vamps asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She had a mop of wild blonde hair and a singularly unimpressed attitude. Frank tried to speak but ended up coughing, dark gobs of blood dribbling down his chin. The girl pulled a face, trading an uneasy look with her comrades.

“Amy, how’d he get here? No one’s supposed to know about this place, they said it’d be safe,” a nervous, thin-faced girl with long straight hair asked, inching closer to Frank. He swayed towards her, baring his blood-stained teeth in what he hoped was a menacing grin. She jerked back, eyes darting back to the first girl. 

“Well obviously it isn’t,” Amy frowned. “Not if someone can haul a half-dead dude in here, hogtie him, leave him, and vamoose without setting off any alarms. We need to go.”

“Are we just going to leave him here?” piped up the last girl, twirling a tight curl between her fingers as she stared Frank down. “We should finish him off.”

“Look at him,” Amy sniffed, “He’s not going to last much longer. We don’t need blood that bad. Plus who knows where he’s been.”

“Wait,” Frank choked out as they turned to leave. “Wait. Help!” The girls continued off, disappearing out of his line of sight behind one of the larger crates. Shit, he was so pathetic, even a vampire didn’t want to kill him. They’d leave him here and he’d bleed out and that would be it. He’d die here and then no one would avenge his family. That couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“God damn it, WAIT!” he called after them, voice straining. “I know what you are. I’m worth a lot more to you if I’m alive.” His chest spasmed, triggering another coughing fit and sending blood splattering across the concrete. Amy paused, spinning on her heel to look back at him, a crease forming between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. 

“Oh yeah? And why’s that, rough road? You look like a dead man to me.” Her voice was hard and Frank knew she was right. He was a dead man, but he couldn’t die yet. 

“Your leader,” he gritted out, chest heaving. “The blonde with those baby blues. I need to talk to her. I didn’t listen before, but I can stop them coming after your people.” Amy’s frown deepened, her head shaking back and forth softly before a dawn of realization spread over her face.

“You’re the Punisher, aren’t you? You’re Frank Castle,” she said, almost wonderingly. Behind her, one of the girls yelped in alarm, pleading with Amy to leave, but she waved her off. “She told us about you, told us to keep an eye out but wow... What happened to you?” 

“I trusted the wrong people,” Frank let out a low, wet laugh. “Now I’ve got to settle a score and I think I need her help. Please, just get me to her.” Amy considered him for longer than Frank liked, her blue eyes boring into him. Then, without a word, she knelt beside him, fishing in her pocket to produce a pocket knife and setting to work on the restraints around his ankles. 

“If this is some messed up scheme to hurt us I will make you regret it,” she threatened, biting her lip in concentration as the plastic gave under her blade. She moved to his wrists. He let her pull the shredded ties off, ignoring the pain lancing up his arm as she jolted his hand. Pain is temporary, he reminded himself again. 

“Someone call Foggy. We’re going to need help getting him out of here,” she called over her shoulder, never looking up from her work. He was drifting in and out now. He didn’t know how they got his unresponsive body up and out of the warehouse but next time that he phased into consciousness he was in the back of a van.

There was a man with shoulder length hair driving, but Frank couldn’t make out what he was saying. He kept looking back at Frank with worried glances every time the van lurched to a stop. He might have been asking him questions, but Frank wasn’t sure. The blonde girl — Amy? Amy — was sitting next to him in the back, knees drawn up to her chest as she chewed at her nails. He reached out a hand vaguely in her direction but it fell limply against the van floor. She frowned at him.

Time got fuzzy again. It was dark when they hauled him out of the van. He couldn’t see much but God, could he feel every bump along the way. The blonde man was carrying him, with Amy and the other girls trotting at his heels, and Frank could tell he was trying to be gentle but every step felt like a crucifixion. The stairs were worse — didn’t vampires believe in elevators? — but luckily, he passed out by the second landing. 

\---

The world was light and soft when he woke up. There was a faint beeping from beside him and something warm pressed against his chest. He opened his eyes slowly to a dimly lit room. Moving his head hurt but he looked around anyway. There were windows, but they were shuttered tightly against the outside world. He was in a twin bed, blankets pulled up around him and the sleeping form of a tan dog cuddled up against him. 

Frank moved a hand to scratch at the mutt’s ears but was stopped by a link of chain keeping his arms secured to the bed. He looked down in confusion. One of his hands was wrapped in clean white bandages, the cuff placed high enough on his forearm that it wouldn’t press against the bandages but tight enough that he couldn’t slip out of it. His gaze flicked to his other arm and he found it similarly restrained. They’d replaced the battered cuffs from his original run-in with the vamps at the rave with new ones. And they’d cleaned his wounds, which meant that they wanted him alive for some reason. The heart rate monitor at his bedside spiked as he bucked his body up against the restraints only to settle against the bed with a moan of pain. Fuck. 

Everything from the last couple of days, or however long it had been, started filtering back and his breathing quickened again. Billy. Schoonover. The vampire girl. Shit, now he knew why he was chained to the bed, he was probably smack in the middle of a fucking vamp nest. He shook his head, trying to clear it of pain for just a goddamn second so he could think of a way out of here. 

He took stock. He hurt everywhere. He could feel bandaging around his head. A needle pinched at his elbow, leading up to two bags hanging from a metal rack. One of them was clear, but the other one was unmistakably blood. He could only pray it was human. Other than the bed and the medical set up, the room was plain. A single folding chair was propped against the poured concrete wall and the floor was bare. The door, a heavy metal number with an impressive amount of locks, was slowly being pushed open.

“About time you woke up,” came the voice from the door and Frank froze. It was her. Standing there in a white blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair drawn up at the base of her neck, looking for all the world like a business woman on her lunch break, not a centuries-old vampire. She crossed the room in a few short, confident steps to unfold the chair leaning against the far wall and set it at his bedside. 

“You’ve been asleep for almost three days, Mr. Castle,” she said primly, sinking into the cheap plastic chair like it was a throne designed just for her. He swallowed thickly. His world had been turned upside-down since he last saw her, and she had the nerve to look just as put-together as she always had.

“Call me Frank,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off hers. A delicate gold brow raised, a slight smile curved her pomegranate lips. She folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward enough that Frank caught a hint of perfume, something dark and floral that reminded him of moonless nights and violets crushed underfoot.

“Then call me Karen,” she replied, raising her chin to pierce him with a knowing look. “If the condition Amy found you in is any indication, I assume you believe me about our lack of involvement in your family’s deaths?”

“Yeah,” Frank jerked his head down. There was no doubt who was responsible. Schoonover had practically confessed. “Yeah, I believe you. I get it now. What I don’t get is why you haven’t killed me.”

“Why would I kill you?” She tilted her head, looking at him intently.

“You said it yourself. I’ve killed your people, your family. Hundreds of ‘em. I mowed them down without hesitation, and hell, I liked it. I thought I was getting justice. What’s stopping you from getting your own justice now? I’m too dangerous for you to let me live. They knew that when they dropped me at one of your safehouses. So why the hell am I still alive?” 

“Because unlike you, I don’t enjoy being predictable,” she shot back, fire lighting her voice. For all the talk of vampires being cold, dark creatures, Karen blazed like the sun, impossibly bright against the shadow of his doubt. “They want me to kill you, they’re expecting it. The last thing I’m going to do is give those bastards what they want and if that means keeping you alive, you can bet your sorry ass I’m keeping you alive, whether you like it or not.”

“Is that why you have me handcuffed to the bed?” He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but she laughed anyway, a wry smile twisting her lips as she shook her head softly. 

“No, that’s for my benefit as much as yours,” she replied. “Can’t have you running off to get revenge before you’re fully healed.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “and why’s that?”

“Because in all likelihood, you’d wind up dead and I’d be down my best chance of taking down the real threat to my people,” she declared, molten silver sparking from her eyes. The smile was still on her face, but it had changed into something sharp, dangerous in a way that suddenly reminded Frank that the slim woman sitting at his bedside was not human, not even close. She was strong and lethal and beautiful and he hated that she could probably tell how his heart rate sped up of its own accord.

“That’s your plan then,” he tried to master his voice, but her eyes caught his with a sharp, knowing edge. “You want me to take out Schoonover.”

“The longer he stays alive, the more likely a blood war breaks out between the humans and the vampires,” she agreed. “But killing him would just provide the hunters with a martyr. No, Frank, I don’t want you to kill him. I want you to destroy him. Break him, leave him powerless and alienated and alone. When you’ve done that I’ll take the only thing he has left. His humanity. I want him to know what it’s like to be hunted. But no matter how far he runs or how much he pleads, he won’t last long, not with a target painted on his back for hunters and vampires alike.” 

Frank stared at her. His heart wasn’t n’t pounding from fear this time. She smiled at him, fangs sharp and eyes determined. Slowly, he found himself smiling back. 

“We’re doing this together then?”

“Of course. Together.”


End file.
